A Sad Thing to Waste
by Dark-n-Twisty
Summary: They weren't prepared for her. Like a whirlwind, her arrival is unexpected and she leaves nothing untouched. But she's welcomed all the same, even if it means Scott and Stiles have to split things three ways instead of two. Adding a stereotypical lone wolf with anger issues, a penchant for leather, AND a Camaro to that equation, Stiles knows, is just asking for trouble. Derek/OC
1. The History in the Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing, enough said.

**Chapter Edited on 8/22/13**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The History in the Prologue

::

_Beautiful beginnings do not ensure beautiful endings..._

::

**_Stiles_**

Outwardly they'd never make sense.

Stiles is as sure of this as he is that he'll forever renounce the name on his birth certificate.

And honestly, sometimes it baffles him just how much she doesn't care.

It never even seemed to register with her, the confused looks their classmates threw her as she—a seemingly perfectly sane heterosexual female with all the working parts—hung off two second-string hopefuls with an enthusiasm that just couldn't be faked.

Ask anyone and they'd tell you Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski were already an odd pair on their own. But add a 5'7 blonde with the most entrancing set of hazel eyes he'd ever seen to the equation, and people really started scratching their heads as to why a girl gifted with the looks common for cliques ruled by the Lydia Martin's of the world wasn't herding with the rest of the beautiful people. Even Stiles knew that the social hierarchy most kids followed without any conscious thought should have been enough to insure that Vivian Parrish never saw more of them than a few passing glances in the hall.

John Hughes could've made a movie about them.

Against the backdrop of two lackluster sophomores with no higher aspirations than making it off the bench and onto the lacrosse field, Vivian was the ivy-bound hopeful whose sum total of crappy life experiences just _begged _to be poetized into one hell of a college admission's essay. Practically a school counselors wet dream, and not just because of her spotless attendance record. Even so, she was rarely seen outside his and Scott's presence, and Stiles counted himself lucky that his friend never realized just how much she was slumming-it. She'd probably threaten to remove his limbs for even thinking of it that way.

Their first day of freshman year, Vivian had committed an unthinkable act of social suicide by refusing Jackson Whittemore's invitation to sit at **_The Only Lunch Table That Mattered_**, aka the table that all other lunch tables aspired to be near.

In doing so, she had wasted nearly all the potential her genetic lottery afforded her as far as the beautiful people were concerned. The fact that she'd done it without so much as a backward glance still made Stiles grin like an idiot, not to mention the constipated look on Jacksons' face once he realized the girl was actually ditching him for two benchwarmers-in-the-making had been well worth the hell he and Scott went through at practice the next day.

But he was getting ahead of himself...

In the beginning, people assumed the three of them had gravitated towards each other because of proximity. And why wouldn't they? Four years ago, Julian Parrish and his twelve-year-old daughter had moved to town from the Lone Star State in a mysterious whirlwind worthy of any teen-angst ridden novel the summer before seventh grade year, coincidentally renting the house right next door to the Stilinski men.

Needless to say Julian and his smooth Texan drawl were a _big_ hit in the quiet California suburb despite the fact that people found it bizarre his daughter was harder to spot than Bigfoot during their first few months in town. Stiles figured the man's popularity was mostly due to the uncanny resemblance he shared with the guys found on those romance novels Melissa McCall had slapped he and Scott upside the head for gifting her with a few birthdays back. Teller's Auto Repair had really hit the jackpot with the guy, if only because their female clientele had tripled overnight.

His looks not withstanding, there was definitely a magnetism about Julian, one that even the town Sheriff had fallen prey to when the southern man offered to look over the old Jeep gathering dust in their garage for the price of a few beers and a resumé reference; a junker that Stiles dad had won at an Impound auction a few years back and promised he'd get fixed when his son learned how to drive.

It didn't escape his attention that the two men seemed to bond over their status as single parents, both father's struggling to raise decent kids and make peace with the wives they'd laid to rest. And while his dad wasn't exactly a hermit (being the town Sheriff and all), he wasn't exactly _Mr. Social_ either. The revelation that his father might have been lonely was jarring for Stiles back then, in the same way that kids didn't realize their teachers did more than grade papers on the weekend until they were older. It hadn't occurred to him before Julian that his dad might actually need a friend.

A month into the move, Stiles had broken down and asked his dad about the reclusive family and the pretty blonde he'd only ever seemed to catch out of the corner of his eye. Really, he should've gotten a medal for that kind of restraint. Even his dad had been impressed. But whenever he asked about the girl, his dad managed to always avoid direct answers, saying it was none of their business how a man went about raising his own kid.

"Girl's got ten fingers, ten toes, and a smile that can outshine the sun, leave it alone Stiles," the Sheriff would say. "People just like to talk...so let em."

That was Stiles first clue that not all was well in Who-ville.

Halfway into the school year, not even Julian's popularity among the towns housewives could dissuade people from asking why his daughter wasn't attending any of the local schools. Stiles could remember overhearing the cranky office aids talk about it during his many trips to the Principal's Office.

It took six months before his dad's friendship with Julian Parrish pays off and meeting his daughter becomes a real possibility for Stiles.

Football season rolls around and suddenly it's rare _not_ to find the Parrish family at his dinner table or catch the dad's relaxing in the living room on the weekends to talk smack and watch a game when their schedules allowed it. This is when Stiles finally gets his chance to know the enigmatic Vivian Parrish.

Much like their fathers, the friendship between the two of them forms quickly. Nothing had ever felt so easy, not even Scott and his lifelong brotherhood of nerd-tastic proportions. Stiles vividly remembered the girl bouncing forward, noting miserably that she was an inch taller than him, and before either of their fathers can introduce her, swiping his hand with a self-assured air he wasn't accustomed to. "Hey! I'm Vivian. Vivi or Viv if you like, that-weird-Parrish-girl if you don't."

It was a wonder he'd managed not to wet himself let alone stutter out some semblance of his own name before the girl smiles widely enough to put him in a daze. Stiles had only been twelve at the time, but he could remember imagining in those first moments after their introduction (where he probably looked like an idiot that couldn't string two words together let alone form whole sentences), looking into the future, when he and Vivian were sitting around contemplating exactly where the starting point had been for them; this was the moment they'd go to. The first meeting where she'd dazzled him stupid with her smile.

It was different from the way he and Scott worked, because they'd been friends so long—forever it seemed—it was hard to pin down when they'd actually become friends. But that was just one of the many ways the two friendships were different, and though Stiles knew eventually he'd have to share her with his best friend, he'd always look back fondly on the time when Vivian Parrish was just _his_ girl-next-door.

Objectively, Stiles could admit it was out of character for him—getting along with a girl as well as he does Vivian. From the way other girls' in his class acted, he had been convinced that he had some mutant form of BO only they could smell.

She was a breath of fresh air in world where the only women that could stand Stiles hyperactive personality had been his own mom...and Scott's on a good day. She'd loved the way he didn't edit everything he said, assuring him repeatedly that his word vomit was "totally endearing" where others had deemed it troublesome and weird. He'd liked that she was easy to laugh and completely okay with making a fool of herself if it kept him smiling. Not many thought him worth that much effort, and it was a welcomed change.

Despite the fact that he'd rarely seen her venture outside her house other than to walk the twelve paces it took to get from her front porch to his for their dads' weekly get-togethers, Stiles remembered wondering how a girl with such a big personality could manage being home schooled over the internet with very little human interaction and not go crazy.

She'd been nothing but warm smiles and bright eyes the nights she spent in his house, laughing at all his jokes with an energy that was self-sustaining, to the point where he'd puff up his chest thinking he'd finally found someone to appreciate his cleverness. Though she was quick to make fun of him every time he felt obligated to text Scott: "there's a _girl_ in my room!"

"Yes, Stiles, that's right," she'd say with a grin, hair falling around her in tangled wisps of gold. "I _am_ a girl, and I'm in your room. _Girl_. _Room_. See how that works?"

For a time, Stiles was completely enamored with his pretty blonde neighbor, and if he were being honest, he had felt rather proud of the fact that he was the only kid in town to have met the illusive girl. Even Scott had seemed putout every time Stiles came back with yet another tale of how 'awesome' his new friend was, though he tried his best to hide it. Part of it was his fault, Stiles knew, because he hadn't been ready to share Vivian just yet, nor Scott, but he also knew his best friend wasn't used to sharing him either.

Just when he was ready to give in, to let the two meet, let her grin capture Scott the same way it had Stiles, she'd do something—reveal another piece of herself that had him pulling back in hesitation, unwilling to let her go until he could say with absolute certainty that he knew her best. Years later, when he's grown and the three of them had plenty of time to perfect their group dynamic, he'll blame this possessiveness on the fact that he's an only child.

She'd sneak over sometimes, in the middle of the night while both their dad's slipped into food-induced comas, all swirls and gold-soaked curls as she raced across the wet grass in batman pajamas he'd been more than a little envious of, climbing the tree outside his bedroom window with wild abandon just to talk about his day. The attention had warmed his insides and he'd eaten it up greedily as if it might disappear. She was always so eager to hear about him and Scott and all the trouble they got into, or what he was learning in class. She listened attentively with fisted hands tucked beneath her chin, the epitome of concentration. When he'd asked her why she didn't just let him sneak downstairs to open the door for her, all she'd say was that climbing trees was a luxury she might not have forever. And just when he thought they might actually broach more serious topics, she'd quickly come back with something like global warming killing all the trees leaving none for her to climb and how it would be all his fault because he and his dad didn't recycle enough, and they'd laugh trying to muffle the sounds so they wouldn't get caught. Despite getting the distinct impression that he was missing something important, Stiles felt special, like his troubles mattered, and not just the one's boys went to dads or best friends that weren't girls with. It was an addictive feeling, one he'd grown accustomed to having in the short time he'd known Vivian.

But the dinners started happening less frequently, to the point were weeks were passing between visits, and then he barely caught more than a few glimpses of his fair-haired friend. When he did, it was only long enough for her to give him a passing smile, though the effect was dampened by how tired her eyes looked and how quickly her father ushered her into their car with an apologetic wave at him as they headed off to God-knows-where like clockwork. It's during these brief glimpses that Stiles absolutely hates Julian Parish and the villainous bastard his mind has turned the loving father into.

It had all seemed like some grand plot back then. Like people were conspiring to keep them apart. Scott, who'd been too jealous of Vivian at the time to care about how worried Stiles was. His dad; who'd kept ducking all of his questions about where Julian took Vivian everyday. Even the gossip about the Parrish family had died down and Stiles hadn't understood why.

Summer had come again, and Stiles, determined to start his high school career with _both_ of his friends in tow, made it his mission to uncover the mystery of his disappearing friend, dragging a reluctant Scott along for the ride.

Collectively, it would be the best summer of their lives.

::

**_Scott_**

The clarity with which he remembers his first encounter with Vivian still amazes him.

The first time he saw her, she'd been wearing a ridiculous blue knit beanie shaped like an owl, walking hand-in-hand with a mountain of a man that Scott was pretty sure could bend him like a pretzel with just his pinkie if he felt so inclined.

He'd been waiting impatiently for his mom to get off an afternoon shift when he spotted _her_—impishly smiling up at her dad as he tugged her down the busy hospital hallway.

He hadn't recognized her right away, but then...she'd started laughing.

And damned if it wasn't everything Stiles had said it would be; loud and unapologetically infectious enough to make you smile without even realizing. Sure enough Scott had felt the corners of his mouth already starting to curl before he could think twice.

If his twelve year-old-self had been aware of what she would come to mean to him over the course of their lives in Beacon Hills, how much unwavering loyalty she'd bestow on him during some of the darkest points in his life, Scott might have felt more inclined to fight the childish flames of jealousy that had raged inside his chest.

He remembers being surprised that the fabled sunshine laced curls his dopey friend had practically written sonnets about for the ten months he'd known Vivian hadn't been the thing that gave her away.

And, God, had Scott wanted to hate her! The boys-only-club had been working just fine for him up until that point, largely because he hadn't been that comfortable with the fairer sex despite all the time he'd spent with his mother.

But Scott hadn't seen his best friend so unbelievably happy in a long time, not since before his mother had died, and so he'd tried not to completely rain on the other boy's parade.

Everyone always said he was the nice one.

It was for this reason and this reason alone, a twelve-year-old Scott had told himself, that he took so much care to observe Vivian and her dad as they passed by him on their way out. Back then, Stiles had been driving him crazy with all the conspiracy theories he was cooking up (none more so then that weeks' which had heavily featured aliens and pod-people) and maybe a part of him, the part that had still been a kid unwilling to share his best friend, had hoped that once all the drama was over he and Stiles might actually get to enjoy the rest of their summer.

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible standing by the nurses station, Scott recalls catching the end of the pairs conversation.

"Look at it this way dad, at least now you won't have to learn how to french braid, right?"

"You know this happy-go-lucky thing...it's all your mother," the man shook his head ruefully, rolling his eyes heavenward. "It was cute when you were five, now—not so much."

"Oh please, I'm adorable." Vivian huffed.

"If you say so, kid."

"I do," she'd said resolutely, tugging on the ends of her hat in a way that had belied the sureness of her tone.

At the time, he'd been annoyed that Vivian sounded so vain, just like every other girl after Stiles had sworn up and down that she was _nothing_ like the girls they'd been used to. But even his younger self had noticed the way her lower-lip trembled, had realized that his dislike had been keeping him from seeing things that should've been obvious.

Her father had noticed it too.

Julian's easy stride faltered as he'd stopped to kneel in front of his daughter. "Hey, lemme see those eyes of mine," the southern man had commanded sternly, pulling at Vivian's chin so she'd had to look him straight on.

Years later, he will find it hilarious just how often Julian curses his own genes to hell and back for making his daughter a mirror image of himself.

"We knew this was coming, and Mary said it'll all come back after so all we have to do is make it to _after_."

Her smile wobbled some, and Scott would be lying if he said it hadn't tugged at his heart, and even the brat he'd been back then wasn't completely incapable of empathy...even for a best-friend stealer with pretty eyes.

"...You think?" She'd asked earnestly.

"I _know_," her dad bobbed his head, climbing out of his squat with the ease of a man who'd made his living bent over car engines. "Till then though, I think I'm going to start calling you Gandhi. Hope that's cool."

"Dad!"

"Or Howie...when's the last time you saw a guy named Howie with hair?"

"_Dad_!"

"Alright, alright, jeez Fester no need to get sensitive."

Julian chuckled, pulling his daughter's squirming form into his arms to place a kiss on her forehead before letting her shove him away.

"You're unbelievable."

"So they say, its part of my charm." Her father wagged his eyebrows, earning an eye roll and a long suffered sigh from his younger companion. The father-daughter duo bickered all the way out the sliding doors, and probably, Scott thought, long into the parking lot.

Watching the two interact had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he knew it wasn't just Vivian's hold on Stiles that he'd been jealous of that day.

The turning point for Scott and Vivian comes later; once he understands _why_ she never joined his 7th grade class and why she won't be joining his 8th grade class either, why the beautiful hair Stiles was so enamored with is inexplicably absent the first time he meets her, why the weekends Vivian spends with his best friend, pretending she doesn't have a care in the world, are so special to her.

**"Honey, you ready," Melissa McCall came up behind her son, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. She followed Scott's line of sight, catching the retreating form of the hunky mechanic all the nurses had been fawning over and his daughter. "Sorry I took so long, Ruth needed some help finding a patient's chart."**

**"Yeah, no problem," Scott assured his mother with a half-grin, his earlier ire at her lateness forgotten. "Hey, do you know anything about them?" He nodded towards the exit the pair had just taken. "The Parrish family, I mean...?"**

**"Only what I've managed to pick up through the hospital grapevine...why?"**

**Leave it to his mom to be especially vague on the one day he actually wanted to know about her work drama. "Do they come here a lot?" Scott tried again.**

**"I don't know...often enough to have some of the younger interns sniffing after Mr. Parrish I guess. And again I ask, why?"**

**"It's nothing, really," Scott tried to play it off, not wanting his mother to get the wrong idea, a knack of hers that usually left him mortified and red faced. "Stiles is cool with Vivian, and I've never met her so..."**

**"Ohhh-ho, you mean the new friend Stiles is always gushing about who you keep telling me you're _not_ jealous of?" His mother nailed her point with deadly accuracy. "I was beginning to think she was imaginary."**

**Scott opened his mouth to protest, huffing at the knowing smirk she gave him. "I'm-why would I even-I'm not _jealous_..." At her skeptical face, he defends,"I'm _not_!"**

**"Hello, I'm your mom," Melissa jested, grabbing her coat and purse from beneath the front desk, "we've met, right? And to answer your first question, I work the ER shifts, so I don't really see them but my friend Mary does."**

**When she didn't continue, he prodded,"...And?"**

**"And _nothing_, I'm a nurse, Scott. Patient info isn't meant to be gossip—"**

**A few nurses walk by them, talking in scandalized whispers. _"Did you hear about the guy in room-112 getting caught with Shannon from the night shift? Naked and everything! Dr. Wilkins is on the war path."_**

**The disbelieving look Scott gave his mom gained him a cuff to the back of the head. "At least not in _my_ book...and for future reference, no one likes a smart-ass."**

**It wasn't until they were both situated in the car, when he'd been ready to deem this fact finding mission an absolute FAIL that his mom threw him a bone.**

**"Just..." she paused, biting her lip like she's not sure she should be telling him what she's apparently about to tell him, and Scott has a death grip on the edge of his seat, really hoping that the little voice in her head telling her to keep her mouth shut doesn't win. "Do me a favor and tell Stiles to be careful, okay. Don't let him spend _all_ of his time with her."**

**Understandably, he was puzzled by the request because he wonders what his mom thinks he's been trying to do this whole time.**

**At his confused look, Melissa gives him a tad more, "Not because you're being a baby —which, you are, by the way— I'm just saying, don't let him get too attached to her..."**

**His mom pinned him with a look. "And _don't_ ask why! I've already said too much." She shook her head sadly, scolding herself. "I just don't want this to be another loss he isn't properly prepared for," she added quietly, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road.**

Reading between the lines wasn't exactly one of Scott's strongest skills, but he would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to understand what his mom had been trying to tell him.

To say he felt like a world class jerk for all the time he'd secretly been wishing Vivian Parrish would just disappear was an understatement.

He'd wished it was aliens.

::

**_Vivian_**

Before werewolves were even a speck on her radar, fruit baskets had been the bane of Vivian's existence...otherwise known as the kryptonite of terminally ill patients everywhere.

Vivian remembered them well. Full of condolences and _get well soon's_ and _in your time of need's _and every other Hallmark staple of sympathy along with whatever was crowding or about to spoil in the Good-Samaritans' pantries. After her last few rounds of therapy at the hospital, they'd started showing up like ill-timed alarms going off just when you'd managed to find a comfortable spot on the couch.

Word really did travel fast in small towns. Probably faster than swine flu and _that_ was saying something.

It'd taken nearly every ounce of her reasoning skills to persuade her father not to toss them outright, so overrun with memories of his dead wife that he couldn't appreciate the kind gestures fully.

Vivian hadn't really blamed him.

Fruit baskets were the kiss of death in their family. The telltale smoke before the fire. She'd only wished she'd been better prepared for Stiles to sniff out the scent. Or at least had the nerve to tell him herself. In hindsight, Vivian knew things had played out exactly as they were meant to.

It had been one of her better days, one where she almost felt human, and she didn't have the threat of endless appointments and countless needles looming over head. At that point, it had been a waiting game, and all she had really wanted to do was marinate in the stage, bask in the freedom of not knowing. Her dad had been nice enough to set out some lawn chairs in the backyard so they could take advantage of the summer sun for a change, because by then they'd really had nothing to hide. Even with the warm breeze, Vivian had still needed a blanket to keep the chill out.

She heard them before she saw them, and she bit her lip hard at the bumbling picture the two boys made, knocking their shoulders purposely every few steps. Stiles and another boy (who she'd known had to be the infamous Scott by the harassed look and floppy hair) were covered in grass stains and dirt and more than a few scrapes, the necks of their shirts stretched taut.

Her dad, who'd been contently reclined in the chair beside her, cold beer in hand, leveled the filthy boys with his patented all-knowing stare, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose —a gesture her mom had always called his devil-may-care-James-dean-wannabe impression. "Well, who won?"

Stiles grinned wickedly, shoving an elbow into Scott's stomach before he could speak, "I did."

"You did _not_," the other boy yelled indignantly, "swiping my inhaler and then telling me to _forfeit_ doesn't mean you win. I call foul!"

Stiles scoffed, flailing his arms in a motion as he turned to face his friend. "On what grounds?"

"...On the grounds that you're the biggest cheater ever!" Scott edged toward Stiles ready to call do-over, when her dad stood to separate them.

"I think what you boys need is an impartial judge..." Julian offered diplomatically, grinning at the sight of his daughter smiling widely. While that wasn't a rare occurrence, it was the first time it had actually been strong enough to reach her eyes in days.

"If we're being fair, I'd say neither of you won." Vivian laughed at the affronted look on both boys faces, even more so at Stiles kicked-puppy expression.

"This one's got asthma," Vivian tilted a thumb in Scott's direction, before nodding at Stiles. "And _he's_ a major spaz, so neither of them are really playing with a full deck of cards if you know what I mean. It's kinda like saying you won a race against a blind three-legged dog. "

"Ouch, judge rules: tie!" Chuckling, her dad gave the boys a rough pat on the back before making for the house. He didn't have to be a mind-reader to sense his cue. He knows his presence won't be welcomed if the gleam Stiles has gotten in his eyes is anything to go by, but he throws a few parting words over his shoulder, because he remembers being a petty kid, "Nice meeting you Scott, we've heard a lot about you."

"Really," the boy questions doubtfully, glancing at Stiles before turning his face back towards Julian's retreating form.

"Yeah," the older man assures, and he smirks to himself when he sees the relieved look on the young boy's face at not being completely forgotten by his friend. Sometimes, it was tough knowing everything.

The backdoor slams shut, and the three of them are left in silence.

And somehow Vivian knows. Knows that _Stiles_ knows. It's obvious with the way he's taking her in, looking for things, _signs_, that he hadn't known to look for before. He was hard to read in those moments, and Vivian can't help but hold her breath under the shrewd inspection. At first she'd been sure it was exactly the attention she didn't want, that watchful eye on her, analyzing every move. Better — she had thought — to let people wonder.

"Ask me," her voice finally cut through the tense air, and she spares Scott's squirming form a glance before focusing back on Stiles.

He looks at her for minute, no blinking or facial expression to give away what he's thinking. He takes in the dark circles under her eyes, more pronounced now that he sees she's lost her color, knows the restless look she's wearing, the same way he knows the hat on her head is the only thing keeping her warm from the neck up. "I don't have to. When Scott...when he said...I didn't believe him. I got mad. Thought maybe he was just being a jackass." Stiles shuffled his feet, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Vivian turned to Scott, who'd been busy staring at the tops of his shoes, "Oh, wow, so...the fight...?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry." When Scott didn't look up, Vivian said it again, shifting in her seat to see him fully, hoping she hadn't completely ruined her chance to get to know the shy boy her friend spoke so highly of. "Scott, I'm really _sorry_. You don't know me, and all I know about you is what Stiles tells me, but I really hoped to give you a better impression of me then the chick that makes you fight with your best friend."

"S'okay." Surprisingly, it really was. Because Scott realized that whatever issues he might have with the girl, they didn't matter anymore. And maybe Stiles dad had sat him down after pulling he and Stiles off each other and told him that he wasn't losing a friend so much as he was gaining one if he could just pull his head out of his ass; which had led them to a different discussion about the merits of keeping certain life lessons between men and away from the delicate ears of women, namely, his mom. Either way, he'd started to feel like kind of a douchebag, but then Stiles dad assured him he'd grow out of it, or at least learn to hide it better.

"So what changed your mind, aside from how amazing I look today," Vivian asked.

Stiles motioned with his chin towards the baskets crowding her front porch. "We used to get them," he confided, "before, when my mom...they came by the dozens. That's how I knew."

"Oh," and that was really all she would say on the matter, because she knew how hard talking about his mom was for both the Stilinski men, even now. What remains unsaid is that she knows exactly how he feels, in a way someone who has not lost a parent can never understand.

The silence comes again, only now it isn't so empty — and she has to keep her eyes moving, focusing on the rips in their jeans and the knots in their shoelaces that they'll probably have to cut to get rid of so she's not dwelling on how much she wants to cry.

"You're not allowed to die, Viv," her friend tells her adamantly, locking his eyes with hers. "Just so we're clear...and someone's saying it out loud, you're not _allowed_ to die."

Vivian can't remember if she'd ever felt so overwhelmed in the span of a single moment, and the words she's meant to say get caught at the base of her throat for a time. "Just so _we're_ clear," she makes sure to hold his gaze, even though her hands are fisting the folds of her blanket, "I don't plan on dying."

The breath that leaves him is nearly back breaking, and neither of them will acknowledge the moisture he fights back as he blinks.

"Besides, who's gonna make sure you don't look like a total headcase when you finally get to take out this Lyla girl you're pining for?"

"Lydia," he corrects automatically, though her bright laugh tells him she knows exactly what the girl's name is.

Before Scott can focus too much on the awkward sensation that makes him feel like he's interrupting a private moment, Julian sticks his head out the backdoor of the house in a brilliant move that's both unexpected and perfect timing, "If you guys are all done with your Lifetime special out here, I've got pizza and buffalo wings for those of us who can stomach it, and soup for the pansies that can't."

The smiles they share aren't a sign that everything is perfect, nor are they an indication that the discussion is entirely over, because all of them know they might be too young to make sense of everything right then—though it won't keep them from trying.

"All right, Scotty, help me up and I'll tell you all about the time I caught your sad little friend with his pants down."

"Oh, jeez...really?" Stiles groaned in humiliation, cheeks reddening.

Vivian held a hand out to the dark haired teen, flexing her fingers in his direction as she fixes him with an all too adorable look that Scott thinks just might be the one his mother warned him about when he hit double digits—the look that could get an unsuspecting boy into all kinds of trouble. It should have surprised him, how easy it was for her to make him feel like he wasn't the third-wheel. She really was irresistible, and Scott knew he'd learn just how useless fighting this had been.

Pulling her up took little effort on his part. For being so tall the girl weighed less than paper. She heaved a sigh, throwing her arms over both of their shoulders in a move none of them were certain was just her being friendly or simply unsteady on her feet.

"So, Scott, since we're such old pals, I've been meaning to ask..." the girl between them says airily, playfully tugging on Scott's hair as if she'd been doing it forever. The look he gives Stiles over her head clearly asks if she's for real_. _Of course the other boy is too busy snickering to answer. "I've got this list, you see...and I'm kinda hoping you guys can help me with it."

Intrigue is heavy in the air as the three of them hunker down at her kitchen table, Julian milling around them with plates and napkins though he does tilt his head in their direction as if he's just as eager to see where his daughter is going with this.

"What kind of list?"

Vivian shakes her head, as if they've said exactly what she was expecting. "No, no, that's not the right question. Where's your sense of adventure? The only thing you need to ask yourselves is...do you have the ball—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Julian tuts before his daughter can finish. She blows out an irritated breath, and even though her hair is gone, all of them can imagine her bangs ruffling at the action. "Fine, fine...trample on my poetic license" Vivian grumbles before amending, "do you have the _guts_...to journey into the unknown without wetting your pants, to do things you'll probably remember for the rest of your lives, and maybe gain a few chest hairs in the process?"

Scott looked at Stiles, wondering if he felt the tingle at the base of his spine the way Scott did. Here they were, sitting in the home of a girl he'd been ready to despise not two weeks ago, feeling as though he were on the brink of something life changing. Scott didn't know if it was the unconventional circumstances or Vivian's gravity defying personality pulling him in, but a mere five minutes in the doe-eyed girl's presence and he felt as though something epic could happen at any moment.

He soaks in the feeling, wordlessly sharing a grin with his best friend across the table before turning back to Vivian. "We're in."

"Thundercats a-goooo," Her dad pipes in, trailing off when the kids stare at him as though he's spoken some form of gibberish.

"Hmm, before your time then...uh, how bout' go-go Power Rangers," he tries again, though at his daughter's so-so hand gesture, he gives it another attempt, "...to the bat-mobile?"

The three teens grin gleefully, and Julian knows that's the one.

"God, I _really _need to start watching the news or something..." the older man muttered miserably to himself, leaving the young trio as plans for the summer were thrown around.

The loud laughter that trails from the kitchen tells Julian Parrish two things: one, he's going to have to stock up on his junk food because he knows he'll be seeing a lot more of the Sheriff's son and Scott McCall. And two, unlike her mother, his kid was going to survive _this_. And that was all he could ask for. He'd worry about the hormone ridden teenage time-bombs and their proximity to his daughter another day.

::

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Tell me what you think. Too sappy, not enough humor? I'm kinda going for a supernatural dramedy vibe, though romance will come into play later. I'm debating whether or not to include (SPOILER: if you didn't already make this out) the bucket list summer in this fic. Please note that in these little reflective vignettes, the gang is approx. 11-12 when they first meet.

Let me know what you think. Reviews = love people, or 'like' if you're a commitment phob.

The pairings are very solid, so unless I get knocked upside the head, Derek/OC will happen. Even if you can't see it just yet (though I'll probably have to come up with a Stiles/OC fic to make up for keeping him out of the main pairing).

I'm a firm believer in ground work, it's the only way my mind lets me put OC's into these fandoms, which is why I wanted to give you all a prologue worthy of your time (hopefully) Because none of this really matters if you don't care for Vivian or her story. But, I will say that this won't really be a fic that harps on the 'sick-woe-is-me' angle as it's not my intention. I hope to hear from you guys, because Teen Wolf is only a recent find of mine, and I'd really like to know if I'm doing these characters justice.

**Edited on 8/22/13**


	2. The Bucket List of Celia Parrish

**Disclaimer: ** general disclaimer for the story that follows

**AN**: So the response has been a little low, but I'm not losing faith. I figured I'd give the readers who are halfway interested a bit more background before we get to the main events in the series. Sorry, but you'll have to wait a few more chapters for Derek. But in the spirit of one of my favorite holidays, I'm giving you a bit of the Teen Wolf series events in this chapter, sooner then I planned to.

**Edited on 10/6/13**

* * *

><p>::<p>

**Chapter 2**

The Bucket List of Celia Parrish

::

**Bucket list** | (buck·et list): **_noun_** | _informal; _a number of experiences or achievements that a person hopes to have or accomplish during their lifetime: _making this trip is the first thing on my bucket list._ **Origin**: early 21st century, from the phrase _kick the bucket_ or 'die'

::

**_Past_**

Closing her eyes as she breathed in deeply, Vivian notes it's probably the freshest air she's ever smelled, tinged with the scent of wet grass, flowers she can't name, and the warmth of summer. It's almost enough to make her homesick for her family home gathering dust back in Texas.

The heat from the sun's light makes her feel completely covered, as though every scrap of clothing she wore on the long car-ride to the secluded lake-side property wasn't sitting in a pile at her feet.

Impishly, she grinned, biting her lip as she surveyed the wide expanse of trees and tall wild grass from her position at the end of the dock. It felt as if there was no one around for miles, and even though she was on private property she knew that wasn't the case.

Glancing over her shoulder suspiciously towards the cluster of trees she'd deposited her friends with firm instructions to stay put unless they heard the Jaws theme song or spotted a huge guy in a hockey mask, Vivian still couldn't help but check. "Stiles, are you peeking?"

"No!" The insulted boy hollered.

"Scott, is he peeking?"

"_Why_ do you automatically assume that I'm _not_ the one that's peeking?"

"Because we've already established you're the _nice_ one." She explained with a shrug, as if that's all that needs to be said.

"Well, if I wanted to peek, I _would_ because I'm a guy too if you forgot!"

"Jeez, Scott if it means that much to you, go ahead and look. Wouldn't want to harm that spec of testosterone you've managed to gain."

"Hey!" Stiles griped in outrage. "What about _my_ testosterone?"

"That's what **_I've_** been asking ever since I met you, Stiles..." Vivian snorted.

"Oh that's it, I'm _so_ looking! Prepare to be ogled like never before!"

"Too late, perv!" The splash that followed was pathetic really, not even enough to disturb the water for more than a few seconds, but it was loud enough for the boys to hear, and they grinned as they heard the girl laughing loudly. "Number 27, done and dusted...mark it for me would you, Stiles!"

At her request, Stiles took the weathered paper from his back pocket, crossing 'Skinny Dipping' off the list with a grin.

He had to hand it to his friend, their summer had been anything but boring. Not with the contents of the bucket list left unfinished by Celia Parrish in a twist of fate that almost felt predestined, as if the woman knew her daughter would use it to take them all on the ride of their lives.

When Vivian had propositioned he and Scott, Stiles hadn't been sure what they were in for, especially when they realized the bucket list Vivian was dying to finish, no pun intended, had been her mom's, only that it was a thousands times better than sitting around and waiting for the girl's test results.

A week into their venture, and they'd already been banned from the local movie theater for singing inappropriate songs in G-rated movies, busted by his own father for leaving a "Donate Junk _Here_" sign on Jackson Whittemore's front lawn, and told by a pastor from the _New Gospel Chapel_ that they'd be punished for their indecency and depraved behavior come Judgement Day.

In their defense, it'd been her mom's idea to make number nine so raunchy. Stiles was kind of bummed he'd never get the chance to meet Celia Parrish, because if her bucket list was anything to go by, the woman had been one dirty bird—entertaining beyond all measure, but _dirty_.

"Here's to you Mrs. P" Stiles said it nearly every time he checked off one of the odd tasks the adventurous woman left behind, like a prayer. In a sense, he thinks of it as his way of honoring her, and he knows, Vivian feels the same, though she'd never said it. But she wouldn't have been trying so hard to finish the list, otherwise. The way, he thinks to himself, her mom never got to. Stiles was just thankful that most of the X-rated stuff was done and out of the way, because he really didn't think her dad would have been too happy if number seventeen—_have hot sweaty make-up sex under the stars_—remained unchecked, though it didn't stop the older man from taking a sharpie to some of the numbers he deemed unfit for their impressionable young eyes.

"How's it coming, Viv?" Stiles prompted, craning his neck to see through the leaves of the tree he and Scott were perched behind. "Are the _hills_ alive with the sound of music?"

"More like frozen _hard_ from the cold water." She laughed, splashing about like a toddler in a bathtub. The water was cold, but it was also freeing in the most wonderfully awesome way that only a girl who was just beginning to grow into herself could fully appreciate. It made Vivian feel completely alive, even as the goosebumps rose along her arms and legs. "This has gotta be, without a doubt, the best...day...EVER!"

Scott shook his head at the girl's loud shout, eyes nervously surveying his surroundings. "So, what number does your dad actually _think_ we're trying to get through right now?"

Beyond the trees, Vivian paused mid back-stroke. "Why do you ask?"

"I find it hard to believe he would've stayed up at the house with Mr. Teller if he knew we were trying some of the stuff he crossed off your list." Scott snorted.

"Oh please, I'd just give him the old '_I've got cancer_' face and he's mush...it's the _only_ upside to all this, you think I'm not cashing in on that?"

" . . . "

"...and I _may_ have told him we'd be attempting number twelve..."

Scott nodded his head. "Thought so."

"Oh, shut up. You really should be nicer to me, or I won't let you and Stiles come in." Vivian's playful tone carried through the shrubs, as she slipped the swimsuit she had under the clothes on the dock over her body because she was adventurous, not _stupid_, and her dad might actually kill her if he thought she'd given her friends a free show.

"W-what!" Scott sputtered, the octave his voice had taken was so high Vivian could practically see the blush on his tanned face in her head.

"So much for testosterone, huh?" Stiles chuckled, then stopped as Vivian's words truly register and his eyes widened. His head whipped towards the direction of the lake, and Scott didn't even get a chance to try and grab him before Stiles was making a run for the dock like a bat out of hell. "You better not have been _kidding_ cause' ready or not here I come..."

The shirt he'd tossed over his shoulders landed directly on Scott's head.

"Awww, Viv...a bathing suit, really? You're stunting my growth as a _man_!"

At Stiles' incredulous shout, Scott sighed in relief. Whether it was because the prospect of seeing Vivian naked seemed daunting now that he had actually gotten to know her, or because he was sure the mental image he'd forever keep of the girl would show on his face the minute he stepped within a 20-foot radius of her father, a blinking neon sign broadcasting "_I've seen your daughter naked...and I liked it."_

No, this route was much, much safer—Scott thought, even as his friends raucous laughter beckoned him out from behind the trees and towards the dock—and it meant he got to keep all his limbs.

As expected, Julian Parrish nearly killed them all when he figured out just what he'd called in his favor with John Teller for. The lake property his boss owned two hours outside of Beacon Hills had seemed like the perfect setting for some of the more adventurous points on his wife's list, and Julian had wanted to give his daughter a good start on her trek to win over Scott McCall.

But he really should have known that list would come back to bite him in the ass, because skinny dipping with her friends hadn't exactly been what he meant when he'd told his daughter to make a real friend of the asthmatic boy. Even if he did laugh with his boss a few hours later at how cleverly his daughter had used those wide hazel eyes of hers to deceive him.

But then, he had his wife to thank for that too. She'd been the one to teach his impressionable daughter just what those kind of eyes could do to a man.

::

"You think they're really up there, guys? All halo's and clouds and...mint-condition 1967 chevy impalas with painstakingly restored leather interiors...?" Vivian asked contemplatively one night when they were all laying outside on a blanket looking up at the sky because they'd been too tired to do much else. Stiles couldn't help thinking that if Vivian wasn't so cute, her obsession with cars would be kind of off-putting.

Scott scoffed loudly, "More like devil horns and pitchforks...I'm _still_ having nightmares about number 14."

She smacked him hard in the ribs. "Easy doofus, that's my mom you're talking about."

"At least now we know where you get all the," Scott motions with his finger in a circular pattern around his temple that was hard for Vivian to misread, shrieking when said girl pounced on him faster than someone in her condition should be able to. They roll around, slapping at each other's sides, giving noogies when possible, wet willies when not, because while he was fully incapable of hitting a female, he's not really going to let her win just because she was a girl.

They were long passed that phase now.

"If she is..." Stiles said wistfully, hands behind his head, completely unfazed by the dueling pair beside him. "I think she'd definitely be sad she missed out on meeting me . . . I'm _that_ awesome." He felt the mocking look both his friends gave him and subsequently ignored it, nodding to himself. "Yeah, I said it. _I_ _am_ _awesome_. Deal with it. Maybe if you guys are lucky, it'll rub off on you."

Scott and Vivian shared a look that says, _'that's _**_your_**_ friend.'_

"Nah, Stiles, I think you better just keep all that awesome manly stud funk to yourself. Huh Viv, what's that you say...is that…'_you win Scott'_ ?" Scotts said, grinning from his position over Vivian, wrapping her into a headlock just as she managed to cough out a "bite me" before focusing back on the task of loosening his arms from around her neck, smiling like a freak all the while because if there was one thing she has come to love about Scott McCall, it was that he didn't treat her like she'd break. Whether it was because part of him understood how annoying it was to be babied because of his asthma, or he just enjoyed messing with her, Vivian was just one of the boys now, and she loved every smelly second of it.

"Screw you guys," Stiles sulked, petulantly. "I am _way_ awesome. With this innocent who-me-face and yes-I'm-that-adorable-dimples I'm going to be the hottest thing in Beacon Hills High School...except for Jackson, because the jackass somehow managed to hit every branch on the dumb-jock-Abercrombie tree, but if he gets like stung in the face by bees or mauled by a mountain lion, I'm totally up there. Top ten at least. Just you wait...I got awesome dripping out of my ears..." He looked over at his friends mid rant who were preoccupied now that Vivian somehow managed to gain the upper hand, "..._annnnnnd_ you're not even listening."

::

When she'd finally gotten the news, Vivian cried like she'd never cried before, and it was probably the fondest memory she'd had of her time at Beacon Hills General Hospital.

They were in her doctor's office when it came, sitting uncomfortably in chairs that should have their names emblazoned on them, they've been there _that_ often. And after ten minutes of medical jargon that she and her dad still can't seem to make heads or tails of; which must have been obvious to the elderly man sitting behind his desk, because then he's grinning and saying things they do understand—_full_ _remission...medical miracle_.

Remission. It had been hanging over their heads just out of reach, like bait on a hook, and suddenly it was theirs. The weight that had been holding their heads below the water finally lifted, allowing them to come up for air.

And all Vivian could think about, besides the bone shattering relief, was that it should've been harder. It should have been harder to beat something that took her mother so easily.

It should've been a _million_ times harder.

When she was done with the crying, and really she'd had a good five minute run, Vivian noticed her dad looking at her like he was only just seeing her for the first time, like every feature was brand new, and in true Julian Parrish fashion, he cuts her melancholy away with all the delicacy of a lumberjack. "You _really_ are a _girl. _For a while there, I wasn't sure, but seriously...my kid is totally, 100% **_girl_**_._ When did that happen?"

::

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present day<em>**

**_Vivian_**

Sometimes it felt like it happened to someone else, Vivian mused as she shuffled leisurely down the aisle of the office supply store. The summer before their years at Beacon Hills High had been an adventure for them all, one where they'd run wild through their perfectly ordinary town and somehow managed to find magic in everything.

That summer had solidified their friendship in a way few people could understand.

_Amazing_. . .what a common goal could do.

The friendship with Scott had been slow going at first. Tentatively amicable yet cautiously distant, but it meant so much more to her now that she was older, because she'd had to work for it. Luckily, hard work had never deterred Vivian from going after the things she wanted.

"Hey, Viv, how essential is it to have more than one highlighter? Honestly, what happens if you go against the grain just this once and get two. Would the seas boil, would the sky start raining toads, what?" Her floppy haired friend joked as he came down the aisle to join her by the shopping cart, holding up the four packs of assorted highlighters she'd already had in her cart.

Vivian eyed her friend affectionately even as she pulled her supplies roughly from his grip and placed them neatly back into her cart, swatting him in the stomach as she made to pass him. "You mock now, Scotty. But when you're cramming the night before a test and you find yourself without a highlighter, and I'm lounging around on your couch all superior and prepared because I had the forethought to study _weeks_ before, eating chocolate bonbon's, and enjoying the spectacle you make of yourself as you pull your hair out and Stiles ODs on Adderall, I might not give you one..." Vivian chided playfully, coming to a stop in front of the pencil section. And then her mind was too preoccupied with the internal debate she had every year of whether she'll choose the mechanical pencils or the classic yellow number twos.

Decisions, _decisions_.

Vivian bit her lip to hide her amusement as she felt her male companion roll his eyes behind her, utterly spent with her meticulous school supply venture.

"See, _this_ is what I'm talking about," Scott pointed out, walking passed her and snagging a set of both pencils, throwing them in her cart carelessly. "We both _know_ you'll wind up getting the mechanicals because you end up giving them to me and Stiles when we forget ours, and a pack of the number twos because you like how reliable they are on test day. Skipping the mental debate shaves seven minutes off our time, Viv. Seven minutes I don't have to watch you ping pong back and forth about pencils, and special grip pens, or the merits of serious erasers verses the ones shaped like flowers."

"But the debate is part of the process too...it's tradition!" Vivian whined, because that was also tradition, and Scott nodded placatingly as he ushered her over to the register where they met up with a bored Stiles, who'd finished his shopping almost as quickly as he'd entered the place, going to the displays at the front of the store and blindly shoving whatever he could manage to hold in his arms onto the checkout counter.

The fact that he hadn't even purchased half of the supplies on his school list didn't phase him in the least, and it never did. Though the appalled look Vivian gives him every time she sees that his supplies fit into a single plastic bag, was near enough worth the twenty minutes he waits for her to be done. He'd tell her he was saving the trees one plastic bag at a time, just like she taught him, but all of them knew it was a lie.

Both Stiles and Scott know they'll end up dipping into the stash of supplies she keeps in her locker anyway, so they never make much of an effort anymore. That is—except the trip itself, because both he and Scott also know how much doing little things like this with them make Vivian feel like she hasn't missed out on doing it for the majority of her time in Beacon Hills. And they let her, pretending that shopping for another years school supplies hasn't been something they'd taken for granted before meeting their blonde haired friend.

His dimples made an appearance when he noticed the disgusted grimace Vivian has given his bag as the cashier rings her up. "What?" Stiles asked innocently, even though he knew exactly what she was saying.

Her brows arched; _You know what_, they say to him clear as day and Stiles chuckled at the way the fond annoyance creased her forehead before she deemed him a lost cause and moved to grab her own bags from the cart as they made their way to his old blue jeep. He tugged on her curls as she moved passed him, marveling at the fact that it was nearly as long as the day he met her. What a difference three years makes.

Vivian slapped at his hand. "I swear Stiles, what the hell is it with you and my hair?"

Scott huffed at the two, remembering a time not to long ago when his friend was practically obsessed with his new neighbor. "Oh, don't get him started . . . _trust me_, he can go on forever."

"I can't help it," Stiles defended himself, shaking out his hand, "it's so shiny, and soft, and springy . . . " He trailed off at the look both his friends threw him.

"Okay _Stiles_, I love you, but if you even want a sliver of a chance with Lydia, you're gonna have to learn how to compliment girl's without sounding like Buffalo Bill." The blonde girl snarked as she jumped into the backseat.

"_Okay_, you see this," Stiles pointed to his solemn face, looking at his friend through the rearview mirror, "this is me dying of laughter."

"And what a cute face it is," Vivian said, voice dripping in a sweetness only reserved for fuzzy animals and chubby babies, as she leaned forward to grab her friend's cheeks. "Who's an adorable little nerd-face, who? Stiles, that's who." She placed her face against his, rubbing her own cheek against his.

Scott chuckled. "_Awwww_. You hear that man? You're _adorable._"

"Okay, that's it! Five minutes," Stiles shrieked when Vivian had released his face from her emasculating clutches, holding up five fingers before starting the car. "I'm not talking to you for five minutes." He then pointed accusingly at the boy sitting next to him. "You either, Benedict Arnold!"

Vivian nodded complacently, winking at Scott when he looked back at her. They'd see how long Stiles could hold to the silent treatment. For a guy who never seemed to find a topic he couldn't ramble about, Vivian figured five minutes of silence would be torture for him.

That didn't mean she couldn't tempt him though. Her eyes grew mischievous as she leaned forward once they were on the road, pointedly ignoring the boy in the drivers seat. "So _Scott_, you have any idea what had this one," she canted her head in the silent boys direction, "all hyped up when he called this morning? You'd think he'd seen Jessica Biel naked or something, he was _that_ excited."

The dark-haired teen smiled, catching on to her game as she widened her eyes meaningfully. Vivian's eyes had always spoken their own language, and over the years, he and Stiles had become well versed in reading them. "I'm not sure, but I know he was chomping at the bit to tell us about some big police conspiracy..." Scott played along.

" . . . "

Both teens grinned as their driver clinched his grip on the steering wheel, eyeing the clock display on the center console that read 4:02 PM, only a minute into his self-imposed silence.

"Ah, well, it probably wasn't anything major..." Vivian continued. "I mean _nothing_ ever happens here anyway, right?" The blonde smirked when Stiles had to mash his lips together to keep quiet, mouthing a count down to the other teen conspiringly. _Three. Two. One._ A beat passed before their friend opened his mouth. _Sucker._

"Maybe nothing_ used _to happen! But not today. _Today_, there's a dead mutilated corpse in the woods that disagrees with you."

That sent them reeling, and Vivian was almost sad that her and Scott's victory had been dampened by such shock worthy news. Damn, Stiles and his penchant for eavesdropping on Sheriff Stilinski's calls.

"No way!" Vivian and Scott shouted in tandem.

Stiles nodded triumphantly, "Yes, **way**. My dad got the call from dispatch. Two joggers reported a body in the woods, so they're going out tonight to verify, but they've already called the state police on account of that missing girl."

"And were these hikers, say perhaps smoking their weight in pot?" Vivian questioned, still unconvinced.

"Nope! The way I hear it, my dad and the rest of them are gonna be searching the Beacon Hills Preserve as soon as they get word back from the troopers. You know what that means . . . ?"

She and Scott blinked in confusion, looking at each other before turning back to the gleeful boy in the drivers seat. At their perplexed looks, he sighed, "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Vivian glanced at Scott again. "_Apparently_."

"Ugh, fine. My dad was talking to one of his deputy's, and the search party is meeting tonight. So I was thinking..."

"I already don't like the sound of this..." Vivian mumbled, sitting back in her seat as she pulled her hair into a haphazard knot at the crown of her head, blowing at a few uncooperative strands.

Stiles with an idea usually led to groundings of epic proportions. Though in his defense, Vivian could honestly say the thrill-seeker made life more colorful in a quiet town like theirs, and if the grin on her dad's face every time he placed her under house arrest or sentenced her to extra chores was anything to go by, he agreed. "_Keep it up,_" he'd say cheerfully, "_the house has never been cleaner,"_ and_ "could you maybe schedule something delinquent next week too, my car is due for a wash._" Oh yeah, her dad practically begged Stiles to come up with new and interesting ways to get her grounded.

"Hey you said it yourself, nothing ever happens here, _ever_. This is the first case in this town that could actually inspire an episode of CSI. I say we celebrate this momentous occasion by heading into the woods and doing a little snooping of our own..." Stiles grinned excitedly while turning onto Scotts' street.

"Um, hello? I am _so_ not going into the woods at night, especially to find some dead chick who'll probably look like something out of the _SAW_ special effects department. Besides . . ." the teenage girl deliberately brushed her blonde bangs aside, before poking her breasts. As if they'd all needed reminding that they were there. Both boys shifted uncomfortably as they averted their eyes, reminded that yes, she was a girl. "Blonde, check. Boobs, check. Yeah I don't think so. Chicks like me never come back from situations like that."

"Says who?" Stiles wondered aloud, pulling into the McCall's driveway.

"Says every Wes Craven horror movie ever made! Not to mention a few _Scooby Doo _episodes."

"Come on Velma, I'll even let you ride shotgun in the mystery machine." Stiles promised, ignoring Scott's indignant, "_hey_!"

Vivian snorted. "Excuse you, I am not a Velma. All this—," she said indicating to herself, ". . . screams _Daphne_, thank you very much." If anyone got to go off into the dark with groovy boys in orange neck scarves, it was her.

"But Daphne's a red head." Stiles pointed out.

"And Velma's a brunette, what's your point?"

"My point is...Daphne's a red head."

Vivian shrugged, unwilling to show them how much thought she'd given the subject. "Fine, I'll be Jessica Rabbit."

"Again, also a red head...and—what the hell? She's not even in that show!"

"Fictional cartoon characters aside here dorks," Scott interrupted, cutting a hand between them. "I've got first line tryouts tomorrow, and if I even want a-"

"A chance in hell of making it halfway across the field without reaching for your inhaler..." Stiles started laughingly, before their fair companion leaned over to sucker punch him in the diaphragm, no doubt for being so unsupportive and '_male_' about the whole thing. Vivian was always on about how he and Scott needed a better understanding of how to communicate without being—how she put—complete ass-hat douche bags.

Vivian liked to think her ovaries came in handy quite nicely during times like this. Perk of being the only female, and the drawback somedays, was sensitivity. Despite being surrounded by the opposite sex, both at home and at school, Vivian had it in spades.

"I mean-uh, mind over matter, right?" Stiles quickly amended, injecting cheer into his voice.

Scott laughs at the pair as he jumped out of the jeep, slamming the door behind him but poking his head back in through the open window. "Alright you guys, I'll see you tomorrow, and Viv . . ." He caught the girl right in the middle of patting Stiles head for his quick save.

"Yeah?"

"Back at the store . . . I was only half serious." The bronze skinned boy gave her a dopey grin she's quite familiar with. One she's always told him will eventually get him the girl of his dreams if he can combine it with a leather jacket and a _really_ hot car, maybe just the grin and the jacket if the girl feels charitable enough. He didn't want her to feel like he doesn't get what those school supply runs mean to her, the same way he gets why picking up their textbooks for a new semester and planning their schedules still lights up her entire face. Because the novelty of the seemingly mundane tasks hasn't worn off for her. He wants her to know that he gets all of that, to assure her that he and Stiles are just as happy that she gets to enjoy those things as she is to actually do them.

Vivian shakes her head at him, as if he's stupid for thinking she'd take his jokes seriously. "I know, Scott. No worries, I know when to take you seriously."

"Good."

"See, you get this really weird look on your face, kind of like you're constipated or about to sneeze..."

"Annnnd now the moments gone, honestly sometimes I swear you're a guy."

"Oh please, if I were a guy I wouldn't be nearly as fun to fantasize about." She teased, flopping into his now vacant seat.

Scott smiled from ear to ear, used to the outspoken girl's brand of humor by now. "_Very_ true."

They stay like that for a few minutes, comfortable in the silence and just sort of marveling at how far they'd come in the short time they'd known each other.

"You guys gonna make out now? Because I can leave... "

_Of course_, they'd seen the interruption coming a mile away. Stiles didn't cope well with being ignored. Though, Vivian admits, ignoring Stiles was no easy feat for her most days.

Scott waved his goodbye. "Later guys."

"I'll pick you up at midnight, dude! Be ready!" Stiles threw out the window, and then he's off before he can hear Scott's response or any words to the contrary.

It was another ten minutes before they reached their street. And Stiles has tried every trick in his arsenal to get Vivian to cave and join him on his venture into the woods.

"No, Stiles. I've got a shit-load of laundry to do. Left over punishment from the last _great idea_ you had. You know I'm always up for an adventure with my favorite spaz, but these hands, they've got a date with the downey teddy bear not the Blair Witch."

He sighed pitifully. "Fine. Don't come. Miss out on probably the juiciest story to hit this town since . . . well, _you_."

"Oh, I think I'll survive." Vivian said, climbing out of the car and schlepping across the divide between their lawns with three of her five bags, the others weighing down the boy's hands as he walks her to her porch. When they arrived at her door, Vivian grabbed her bags from his hands, giving him the okay to head off since he knows she'll spend the next hour or so basking in the newness of her purchases while packing and then repacking her bag for school. He cuffed her under the chin as he was leaving, throwing a sarcastic "have fun, party animal, try not to give yourself too many paper cuts!" over his shoulder.

When he left her porch and he was nearly halfway to his own, she called out. "Hey!"

She continued when he turned his head towards her. "While you're out there with Scott, in the woods, all alone, if you feel the sudden urge to go a little _Brokeback Mountain_, take a few pictures for me will ya?"

Stiles blanched at the suggestion. "You're so _wrong_ for that one, Viv. _Ugh_, your mind is a bad _bad_ place."

Vivian grinned heartily, blowing him a kiss as her voice takes on a breathy quality that's not really hard for her to maintain. "Oh, Stiles, _I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way._" With that she entered her house, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The events that would take place in the woods that night would continue to unfold for many nights thereafter, testing the three of them in ways they could never have prepared for. Myths and legends wouldn't be so easy to laugh at then, and none of them could have anticipated how real that supernatural world would become, how blurry the lines between reality and fiction would get.

The only thing that never changed was how far they were willing to go for each other.

::

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: Please review if you like it, even if you don't it helps the writing process, and lets me know if I'm heading in the right direction plot wise. Thanks to all of you who've already reviewed or placed me on a favorite list. I really appreciate the love. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

**Next chapter...first days, new girls, lacrosse jock-heads, and with any luck...a little Derek Hale.**

**10/6/13:** I know it has been a pretty long time since I touched this fic, but I'm making some headway now despite my crazy class schedule, and I felt like I owed it to the people who reviewed/favorited/alerted to keep working on this fic. I've revised the first two chapters which really helped me get into the TW mindset and to put the finishing touches on the long-awaited 3rd chapter of this story.

No beta-reader to speak of so be gentle with me...


	3. Interlude: Into the Woods

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**AN:** The longer much anticipated chapter will be coming before the weekend is over. I just wanted to get this out before then, an **amuse-bouche** of sorts to tease you before the main course comes. Hopefully the anticipation will make the next chapter even sweeter.

I'm not evil. I promise.

Although, apparently, I've learned more than I realized watching Top Chef. o.O

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><p><strong>Interlude<strong>

Into the Woods

::

_"Here...there be monsters."_

::

It was fucking _cold_.

That was the first thing Vivian's mind could register beyond the soul crushing fear as she bolted through the underbrush of the Beacon Hills Preserve with a speed that she might have been proud of if she wasn't so goddamn _terrified_. The sole of her boots barely met the ground as her legs pumped faster and faster, gaining speed with every shaky inhalation of crisp night air she managed to fuel her lungs with.

The trees she had deemed oh-so picturesque only five days earlier while looking for Scott's inhaler had suddenly turned wicked, grabbing for her as she sprinted passed them, their branches tearing at her without mercy.

The full moon was _barely_ a reprieve from the shadows that seemed to grow larger the farther she ran. The sound of rumbling growls behind her, made all the more spine-chilling because she could actually hear them getting _closer_, propelling her forward as her survival instincts—ones' she hadn't even been consciously aware of before this night—guided her through the dark and unforgiving woods.

_Duck, here._

_Turn left at this tree._

_Double back a few times._

_Rub against that trunk, throw your jacket over there, spread your scent out. Distract. Confuse._

_Find the creek. Traveling perpendicular to it leads to the road._

_Roads equal cars. Cars equal people. People equal home free._

Oddly enough, the helpful voice in her head sounds a hell of lot like Stiles does when he's trying to teach her how **not** to die in whatever new video game has managed to capture his attention.

Her chest heaves so quickly it almost feels like her heart is trying to escape on its own, figuring its odds are probably better than hers at this point. _You're on your own_, the selfish little devil seems to beat. Her heart was kind of a bitch.

As she mentally berated the traitorous organ, Vivian thinks suddenly—_this must be what going mad feels like._

There's really no other explanation.

She's gone stark raving umbrella-wielding-Britney mad! Which was really just one notch below Michael-Jackson-dangling-a-baby-over-a-balcony crazy. She has to be laying down somewhere, strapped to a bed in a padded cell, eating her own hair, imagining that her life was Stephanie Meyers' wet dream come true. Because there's just no way Scott McCall is a **_werewolf_**. No way to even say the **_word_** werewolf without laughing, or wondering who put the acid in her Lucky Charms. No way to even **_fathom_** how said werewolf could be chasing her through the woods ready to gnaw on her insides as the light of the full moon bared witness to the end of one Vivian Parrish.

And here she'd been worried about Stiles sanity when, clearly, she should have been more concerned with her own.

A branch snaps a few feet away, and Vivian is sure her eyes might just be the size of hub caps as her body freezes, her head swiveling every which way until she finds what she's looking for. A tree big enough to hide behind just as the Yeti formerly known as Scott makes its way to a sparse cropping of trees.

She could see him clear as day now, standing in the moonlight like her very own nightmarish stalker, but she wasn't prepared for how much he still looked like..._Scott_. A hairier, drool covered-Scott in serious need of a manicure, but still...her friend.

And just when Vivian's starting to think that maybe she'll be able to get through to him, call to some part of him that recognizes just how much he _doesn't_ want to hurt her, his head tilts as he listens for something she can't hear.

Then he's turning towards her damn tree, looking dead at her with eyes that shine a brilliant gold, and she _knows_. Knows _exactly_ what gives her away, even though she's done everything her self-made **Survival Tips for Blondes in Horror Movies** has told her to; covered her mouth so she can't inadvertently scream, stayed away from the moonlit path that had looked so welcoming but would have made her that much easier to find, didn't strut around in five-inch heels and pretty mini skirts... everything but find a way to mask her rapid heartbeat from Scotty-the-vengeful-bloodhound.

Strike the **_'kind of'_**, Vivian's heart was a **supersize** bitch, and she decided that if Scott was really going to kill her, she hoped he ate that _traitor_ first.

And to think, the week had started out so promising...

.::.

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: I know it wasn't the update you expected, but I needed this out before I could put up the other chapter. As always, review and let me know what you think.


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